Three years ago, I wrote a column about a mother in Stockbridge, Ga., who told me she'd watched a VHS tape of an Oregon basketball game "a million times."

Vernoise Strother, now 60, told me that she popped the tape in all the time. She watched her son, who wore No. 34, run up and down the court. He was slender and athletic and 21 years old. And she couldn't help herself.

Strother is Jesse Nash's mother.

Each time she watched, Nash took seven shots. And made seven. He finished the game with 21 points, and Oregon won. And when I asked Strother who the Ducks were playing in the game she'd seen so many times on her television, she laughed.

"I just realized, I can't even tell you who Oregon is playing."

See, Nash died in 1987.

He and a teammate were inner-tubing on the Willamette River on Mother's Day when his tube capsized. Nash, a community college transfer, was pulled under by the current and dragged 200 yards downriver.

The university held a memorial service at McArthur Court. His teammates voted to wear his jersey number, 34, on a patch on their uniforms. And coach Don Monson gave her that VHS tape of a game between Oregon and Arizona State from the 1986-87 season.

Strother told me three years ago that someday she'd like to return to Eugene. But then, her mother died of cancer. And she got busy with work. And also, her husband, Charles, battled cancer, and died in January. And during that time, Eugene, which her son always called "the wilderness," felt so far away.

Until today.

Because I received an e-mail from Vernoise Strother two weeks ago in which she announced, "I've booked a flight to Eugene."

She arrives today, with her two sisters.

The Most Improved Player Award in the Ducks program is called "The Jesse Nash Award." He played one season, and that tells you a lot about what his teammates thought of him. And maybe "Jesse Nash" is just a name in the books for a lot of people, but for Strother it's always been more than a name on a program trophy.

"It's been a tough few years," she said. "Especially with my husband passing."

Charles, see, married Vernoise in 1987, after Nash's drowning.

Three years ago in that column, I wrote, "Charles said: 'Jesse was all she had left. The night Jesse died, we were in Philadelphia at a concert. I got the call, but I didn't have the heart to tell her because she was so happy. I waited until we got home.'"

Now, that home feels empty.

There are photographs on an office wall of Jesse in a Ducks uniform. And over the fireplace there's another of her son in his high school uniform. But mostly, there is that crumbling VHS tape, and lots of memories.

Something always felt unfinished to Strother.

She remembers classmates of her son coming up to her at the memorial, as if they wanted to tell her something. She's stayed awake in bed at night, wondering what her son's last days were like. Or if there's something his friends wanted to share with her. She'd love it so much if people who knew her son would tell her anything and everything they remember.

"A mother," she said, "never gets tired of hearing about her child."

After I wrote that column three years ago, Strother stayed in touch. She wrote on holidays. She asked me, each year, when the team banquet was, and how to get in touch with the Ducks coaches to see if they'd let her come to present the award.

This year, though, there was urgency about it.

"It was finally time to come to the place my son loved so much," she said.

Kids go to college. They grow up. They get a degree. Most come home. And if Nash had come home, like his classmates, Strother said she thinks he'd be running a care facility for seniors.

"He had a love for people," she said. "He always talked about wanting to own a home where he could take care of elderly people."

Nash was a good college player. But most of all, he was Strother's son. And so she's going to attend the team banquet Sunday, and maybe say a few words to the Ducks player who wins "The Jesse Nash Award."

I know sometimes this Ducks season feels like a waste. The team is 8-21 (2-15 Pacific-10 Conference). But with Vernoise Strother around, it all suddenly feels grounded, and meaningful.

She's going to the banquet this weekend. And also, she's going to talk with anyone who remembers her son. Also, she wants to find a flower shop.

"I'm going to go to the river and spend a few minutes there," she said. "It's finally time, you know?"

-- John Canzano: 503-294-5065; JohnCanzano@aol.com Catch him on the radio on The Bald-Faced Truth, 3-6 p.m. weekdays on KXTG (95.5).